


Malcolm and the Knee

by springburn



Series: The Thick of It mini-fics [62]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Caring, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Some Explicit Language, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: Malcolm has sustained an injury. He's not very happy about it.





	Malcolm and the Knee

**Author's Note:**

> This story came from seeing a picture of Peter last year when he had his knee op. It also comes from the fact that I've done almost exactly the same to my own knee recently. Apparently it's very common! 
> 
> This is very much a Malcolm story though, not a Peter one. The only real coincidence is the picture. 
> 
> I guess it's in the Shitstorm au although I have neither specified whether they are married, or not, or at what stage in their relationship they are at.  
> The reader can decide for themselves. 
> 
> It's really not that important. 
> 
> It's just a little story of their relationship at that particular moment in time. 
> 
> I'm always a bit wary of writing stuff to a character that has happened to the real person in life, I felt that with the 'Old Fucker' and mentioning the tattoo. The main reason for this is that it pushes the story towards being less about the character and more about RPF, which is a genre that I personally am not comfortable with writing. 
> 
> So.....it's a story...... it's Malcolm...... he's hurt his knee. End of.

MALCOLM AND THE KNEE. 

Malcolm had a bad knee. 

Not an 'ouchy boo boo' knee requiring an Elastoplast. 

But an _'oh shit that fucking hurts_ ' knee. 

"Malcolm, you're limping......what have you done to your leg?" Sam observed him as they wandered the aisles of the supermarket. 

"Nothing. It's fine." He responded grumpily. 

Sam gave a little sigh of resignation. She'd wheedle it out of him later, perhaps now wasn't the best time. 

oOo

Entering the lounge with two cups of tea, she caught him rubbing his leg and wincing. 

"Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to be silly?" She asked, handing him the mug. 

"Don't wanna say.......you'll fucking laugh at me." His face was doleful, puppy eyes, and as they always did, they melted Sam's heart. 

"Try me!" Taking a seat next to him, she touched his arm gently. 

"Twisted it." He huffed, continuing to massage the offending spot. 

"How?" She pursued relentlessly. 

"The other day......" He was hedging, and Sam was finding it difficult to suppress a smile. 

"Care to elaborate?" She moved a little closer. 

With a sigh of resignation he plunged in. 

"When I gave you that massage, remember? I sat astride your, frankly, wonderful arse, rubbing your back.......the other day......I was kneeling over you......then you got all wriggly and horny.......and we......well, you know.......and it twisted......."

"Oh Malcolm!" Contrary to his opinion, she didn't laugh.  
Her hand came to his face, touching the cheek, then reaching forwards to kiss him.  
"Why on earth didn't you say? We could have stopped.....changed position......anything.....why would you not say it was hurting you?" 

"See.....told you you'd think I was a cunt!" He snapped. "It didn't hurt till afterwards for your information......and anyway.......I didn't want to say anything......." Pulling back from her he frowned crossly. 

"Why not? No wait.....don't need to answer that! Because it makes you look all old and decrepit while I'm impossibly young and virile.....is that what you're thinking?" Standing, Sam glowered down at him, hands on hips. 

Of course it was what he was thinking! 

"Honestly Malc! What am I going to do with you?" She chided. 

"Look! It's no big deal. It's fine. I'll be fine. I just need to take it easy is all." 

oOo

One week, several ibuprofen and a knee support later..... 

Malcolm was still in pain. 

He hated the knee support.....

He hated it with all his hate. 

It made his leg all sweaty underneath. 

It showed through his trousers when he sat down. 

It constricted the back of his knee and felt like a tourniquet. 

And it made him walk differently which, in turn, made his hip ache.

Fucking thing. 

The anti inflammatory drugs weren't working either.

At night he couldn't get comfortable because it hurt to put his leg down straight. So he lay with it bent.  
By morning it had stiffened up to such an extent that when he rose and put his foot to the floor, he could hardly walk. 

"Malcolm, I think you need to go and see the doctor." 

Over breakfast that morning Sam scolded him. 

Malcolm sat at the counter. Morose. 

Making a pile of crumbs from his croissant, as he bit into it sullenly. 

The day before he'd made a terrible mistake. 

He and Sam had been having a vinyl evening. 

No, not _THAT_ sort of vinyl........the _'playing LP's from Malcolm's rather large and treasured collection_ ' sort of vinyl! 

Malcolm loved records. 

There was something very satisfying about taking the black plastic dinner plate out of it's wonderfully decorated sleeve.  
Wiping it with a special cloth.  
Setting it on the turntable, holding just the edges in his fingers. 

Lifting the stylus and bringing it down with a _scrrrrrrr!_ Then listening as it crunched it's way to the beginning of the first track. 

Fucking wonderful. 

In his lounge, all his collection of albums were carefully shelved.....alphabetically. 

Bending down to flip through them, he forgot. 

He forgot about the knee......he knelt on it. 

The jolt of searing pain he received for his trouble, made him bite his lip to hold in a cry. 

" _Fucking fuck me!"_

Fortunately Sam was in the kitchen, and by the time she entered, he'd recovered himself. 

It was excruciating. His leg was on fire. 

Sam sat down beside him, picking up the LP sleeve and perusing it as she sipped her wine. 

"This one looks a classic." She remarked, turning it over and reading the track list. _"Sisters."_

"Yeah. Great band, The Bluebells.....from home......" Malcolm tried to keep his voice normal. 

"I think I remember _'Young at Heart_ '........just......." 

Receiving no answer she turned to look at him. 

"What's wrong?" She laid the album cover aside. 

"This poxy knee." He hissed. 

 

oOo

"Ring the surgery Malcolm.....what are you afraid of for fucks sake?" 

Malcolm placed his coffee cup down.

"Nothing! Just hoped it'd get better by itself, that's all." 

"Well it isn't! So do something!" She replied, passing him his iPhone. "Don't make me get cross with you Malcolm......just ring.....make an appointment." 

Malcolm obeyed sheepishly. 

_Damn her! Why was she always fucking right?_

oOo

The surgery was packed. 

Full of ill people. 

Coughing and spluttering all over the place. Spreading their germs! 

A screaming baby that was almost deafening in its intensity.

Malcolm was extremely grumpy. 

Sam sat impassively beside him as he waited for his name to be called. 

"Mr Tucker? Room 4. Dr Khan." 

Rising, Malcolm made to hobble off, but then stopped, turning to Sam hopefully. 

"You coming?" He asked. 

"No, Malcolm.....you're not five. You don't need me to hold your hand......but if you're a good boy and behave, I'll give you a lollipop afterwards......" 

"Ha fucking ha!" He spat, and limped away. 

Sam watched him go, shaking her head with a fond smile.  
Bless him.  
How she adored him!  
The silly arse. 

 

"Remove your trousers Mr Tucker......I think that'll be easier." 

Malcolm stared at the Doctor as if he'd just been asked to expose himself to a crowd of hundreds.

In return he received a sarcastically raised eyebrow. 

_"Fine!"_ He huffed, before reaching for his belt, unfastening his waist band and lowering his keks, grimacing as he levered himself up onto the examination couch. 

"Ok......let's have a look......tell me where it hurts......" 

Dr Khan began prodding. 

"There?"

"No!" 

"Here?"

"Not really.....bit tender."

"How about there?" 

_"OW!! FUCK!!"_ Malcolm tried to pull his leg away. 

"Mmm! I'm guessing it's there then.......!"

".........looks like the meniscus to me.....you may have just pulled it.....or it may be torn......did you twist yourself?"

"Yeah." 

"How? Playing squash or something?" The Doctor looked Malcolm up and down with some scepticism, as if trying to ascertain how sporty he may or may not be." 

"You don't wanna know." Malcolm replied coldly, colouring visibly. 

"Then I shall enquire no further!" The medic conceded, with an amused grin. 

"What do you reckon then doc? If I rest it......wear the support.....it'll right itself yeah?" 

Picking up his pen, scribbling a prescription, then tapping on his computer keyboard, the GP, looked at his anxious patient over the top of his spectacles. 

"Possibly. These are a stronger form of pain relief, and a larger dose of anti inflammatory......they are non-steroidal, but better than you can purchase over the counter." 

He handed the chit over. 

"Give them a fair whack for a while.......but it's my belief that it's quite a bad one and you might need keyhole surgery." 

Malcolm exploded. 

"You're fucking kidding me?" 

"I'm afraid not. And there's quite a waiting list. Do you have Private Medical?" 

The blustering and puffing continued. 

"Yeah.....but.....the knife? Seriously? It can't be that bad surely.......?"

Standing, he began to refasten his trousers and belt, his face a picture of doom. The hangdog expression, the incredulity, the disbelief. 

"........it's just a sore knee." He finished lamely. 

"And it'll stay sore if it's torn, it won't heal itself properly and it'll give you no end of trouble. Best to get it fixed, take your recovery time, end of problem!" 

"Okay Doc......thanks......I guess." 

It was a somewhat defeated Malcolm Tucker that left the consulting room and rejoined Sam in the waiting area. 

"Well?" She asked, taking his arm. "Do you get a lollipop? Is it just a poorly knee?" 

"Don't wanna fucking talk about it!" Came the disgruntled reply. 

oOo

Over the next fortnight Malcolm Tucker was not a happy bunny. 

In spite of taking his meds and wearing the accursed support, the knee did not improve. 

At least not significantly. 

Sitting down on the lavatory for his morning crap, he found it difficult to push himself up to standing afterwards.....without holding onto the sink!  
Waking each morning his right leg would be like a log of wood. No bend in the middle. 

Fucking Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. 

There were odd creaky, grinding noises, as if he needed oiling, when he reached for things or got in and out of the car. 

Running was completely out of the question. 

Sometimes it was just a constant dull ache. Which made him extremely tetchy. 

Other times a real stabbing pain, making him stop and suck in a breath. 

Sam was a fucking saint. There for him at every turn.....

Ice packs. 

Legs up on the sofa, with a rolled cushion beneath the offending article. Swollen as it would be after a day on his feet. 

Gentle massage with Deep Heat. 

The whole house stank of Winter Green. 

Taking time and effort to teach him the gentle stretching and strengthening exercises the Doctor had recommended to alleviate the discomfort. 

Tender ministrations. Serene patience. 

Fuck, but he didn't deserve it. 

They were on the yoga mat now.......he in his shorts, elastic knee bandage applied. 

She in her Lycra......looking fucking gorgeous, as usual, hair in a pony tail.....

Standing calf stretches, leaning against the wall. Straight leg raises, lying on his back, with her soft hand under his calf to guide him. 

"You're doing great! Now turn on your tummy Malc. Then raise your leg from the hip, extending it.......just a few inches."

She was so close to him, her fingers tucked under his hip, showing him how to lift the whole leg, with his knee straight, as he puffed and groaned into the rubber mat. 

"Fuck Sam! No more. I've had enough! It's no use.....I'm going to have to bite the bullet."

Turning himself, sitting up onto his bottom, legs bent up, he hugged them both with a grimace. 

Looking desolate.

"Oh sweetie! I'm sorry! But I think you're going to have to!" 

Giving him a hug, he leaned into her and let out a long breath, as she held him close. She smelled so amazing that he was kissing her before he knew it, couldn't help himself. 

They separated after a few moments, both smiling, both nervously looking into each other's eyes. 

"It'll be fine." She whispered. "You'll be good as new again.....it's a blip Malc......just a blip, okay?" 

"Fuck!" He blew air through his lips. "Why do you even fucking bother with me.....? I'm a fossil.....a bloody dinosaur......." 

Taking his face in her hands she pecked his nose. 

"Because I love you......gammy knee and all......and you are _NOT_ a fossil.......you are wonderful, handsome, and lovely.....and you're all mine!" She smiled. 

"I _am_ yours.......aren't I Sam? I am?" Little boy lost, so many times she'd seen it now. He constantly needed reassurance. 

Brushing a hand distractedly through his steel grey hair, she kissed him again. 

"Yes, Malcolm." She responded firmly. "And I belong to you......that's how it works with us....okay? We're a team. A partnership. It's all I've ever wanted. _You_." 

Malcolm sniffed, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand, turned his face away. 

oOo

"Why do I have to wear this thing?" 

The blue cotton gown had tapes at the back to fasten it. 

"I'll be showing off my arse to the whole fucking ward." 

"Malcolm, no one is going to see your backside......because there's these......." 

Sam held up a pair of white paper pants. Trying her best to stifle giggles. 

"Oh for fucks sake!" Her beloved threw up his hands. "Are there clown shoes as well? Might as well look a total cunt! Why not go the whole hog? Wear a curly wig too?" 

"Stop fussing! Put them on and get into bed! They'll be here with the trolley in a mo!" 

Malcolm undressed like a petulant child. No sooner had he done so, when, as Sam predicted, the porters arrived to take him down to theatre. 

"Your chariot awaits, Sir!" Smiled the genial happy chappy. 

Malcolm glowered. 

He was nervous. 

Sam knew. 

He was afraid and he was desperately trying to cover it with false bravado and bonhomie. 

It wasn't so much the knee......that wasn't the problem. It was the anaesthetic. 

Being put to sleep.

He might not wake up. 

Once aboard, his wristband was checked. Pre-med given. His right knee had felt marker on it.

'Presumably so they don't get my two knees muddled up,' he quipped.  
But the smile was rictus. Baring his teeth.  
A sheen of perspiration on his top lip. 

Sam came beside him, took his hand, curling her fingers around his. 

"I'll see you when you come out of recovery. Okay?" She smiled reassuringly. 

"Okay. Hey.....Sam?" He didn't let go as the wheels began to move. 

"What is it?" Her face looking down on him was so lovely, he wanted to make sure he committed it to memory. 

"I love you." His breathing was rapid.......but he fought to control it. 

"Love you too. Idiot! See you in a couple of hours." 

Their hands were pulled apart. 

"See you on the other side." He called, as the doors swung to behind him.

oOo

"Just a little scratch on the back of your hand Mr Tucker." 

"I want you to begin counting backwards from 10 to 1 for me.....okay?" 

"Right, going off to sleep now......" 

_"10, 9, 8, 7..........6....................."_

oOo

Malcolm was dreaming. 

There was a soft haze around him and he felt very peaceful. 

For the first time in as long as he could remember he had absolutely no worries, no anxieties, just a blissful detachment.  
Floating.  
Not a fucking care in the world. 

Opening his eyes. 

"Welcome back Mr Tucker......it's all over......" 

".......how do you feel?" 

"Fucking amazing!" He slurred. 

His mouth was as completely devoid of saliva as he had ever known it.  
Lips almost fused together. Tongue like a furry slipper stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

"Dry as a chip though." He rasped. "Drop of water wouldn't go amiss." 

"I'll fetch you some....just sips mind.....we don't want you to be sick." 

His eyes fluttered shut after a little drink, and he drifted off into la la land.

Coming to again, still euphoric, he found he was somewhere different. 

His own room. 

Sitting propped up with pillows. 

Leg suspended on a cradle contraption. 

Looking to the side, his eyes focussed dimly. 

Sam. 

The best thing a man could possibly wake up to. 

Seated beside his bed, reading a book quietly. 

Glancing up when she became aware of his movement. 

"Hello again! Sleepy head!" She rose, leaning over him, kissing him sweetly, allowing her lips to linger against his skin. 

"Fuck....am I glad to see you!" He breathed, drinking her in. 

"How you feeling?" 

"High as a kite!" He responded airily.

"That'll be the morphine......they gave you an injection earlier......for the pain....." She replied, taking his hand. 

"What pain? I'm not in pain......" 

"Not now you're not, but you were earlier.....you were whimpering." She regarded him with such concern and kindness in her eyes, that it was humbling. 

"Was having a really weird dream." His eyebrows knitted together as he tried hard to remember. 

"Something about......I dunno......it was fucked up......." 

"Well, forget it now, it's not important." She resumed her seat. 

Malcolm lifted the sheets lazily and looked down, assessing the damage. 

His right leg was encased in a fat bandage. Copious amounts of wadding, and crepe. 

"Christ!" He exclaimed. "It's twice the size!" 

"It's just a pressure bandage Malc. They'll be taking it off soon, then they'll get you up and walking......you'll have a knee brace and crutches to start." 

"Bollocks! Really?" Malcolm let the coverlet drop. 

"Yes! They told you all this! You'll be ready to leave in a few hours, they want you on your feet as soon as. It minimises the risks of stasis and DVT......but don't worry about that. You'll be fine. I'll take good care of you!" 

oOo

If Malcolm was completely honest, he was somewhat disappointed when the bandages and wadding were finally removed. 

He was expecting a spectacular scar, a neat line of sutures down the centre of his knee cap, red, livid and sore, nasty and painful looking, which would make him look much more of a brave soldier.

Instead, there were two tiny holes. 

One each side of the joint. 

About the size of a grain of rice. With a blue stitch in each. A third puncture wound at the top of the knee cap, where a small drain had been temporarily placed. 

"Fuck! Is that it?" He scrutinised his own leg with a pout. 

The skin was tinted a browny orange, from the tinc benz, with which it had been liberally painted prior to the surgery. 

Once the knee brace was fitted, Sam helped her invalid to dress. 

He couldn't wear his trousers, or his jeans, as the legs were too narrow. 

So it had to be shorts. A grey marl T shirt. Zip up hoodie. 

Crutches under his armpits. Left leg on the floor, right leg swinging. 

Off he went down the corridor. 

Crutches forward, then good leg. With the bad leg following through. He soon got the hang of it.  
Although getting himself into the car to go home was a bit of a trial. 

The limb felt heavy, oddly so, as if it had lead weights attached. A little like having a telegraph pole hanging from his pelvis. 

"This is fucking weird." As his concentration waned, he wobbled dramatically. 

Sam caught his arm. 

"Woah there! You are going to be on your arse in a minute! Slow down Usain Bolt!" She laughed. 

oOo

Two and a half weeks. 

Malcolm did not whine or complain, and if he was ever angry, it was more out of frustration at what he couldn't do, than anything else.  
Although at first his mobility was severely limited, especially where stairs were concerned, his improvement went in leaps and bounds.  
He was fairly stoic in the face of it all......but........and this was Sam's downfall.......he just looked so vulnerable....

......and a vulnerable Malcolm was a dangerous thing.

Her instinct was to mother him......and that wasn't really what he needed, but who could resist?

Bringing him cups of tea, helping him on the stairs, fetching things for him. Making sure he did his special exercises every day.....whether he wanted to or not.  
She knew as well as he, that there was no way he'd do them regularly without her to push him. 

As for Malcolm himself, he found that being babied was really rather nice. 

No one had ever done that to him before, not really, his mother had been affectionate, but not in a nurturing sense.  
Helen Hatley once told him he didn't get enough cuddles as a child.  
Cut him to the quick. Because he knew it was true.  
He'd been told from an early age to _'be a man_ '. 

It was ingrained into him, that 'real' men didn't show their emotions, cry or get upset, maintaining the 'stiff upper lip' at all times. 

No woman he'd ever been with had shown him kindness and tenderness in that respect, least of all his ex wife. 

So Malcolm was enjoying the feeling of being cosseted and loved. 

But ultimately it didn't sit well.

It was against every code he'd lived by throughout his life. 

"What's wrong Malc? You're very quiet today. Is the leg paining you?" 

Malcolm snapped out of the trance of thought he was lost in, coming back into the room. 

Sam was seated on the couch beside him, her face full of concern. 

Flashing her a little smile, he took her hand and held on to it tight. 

"Nah. I'm okay. Just thinking about stuff that's all." 

She bought her other hand over and imprisoned his between hers. 

"Tell me Malc. I can't help if you don't share it." 

He shrugged. 

"It's nothing." 

Sam's face became stern. 

"No Malcolm! That's _not_ what we do. That's the old Malcolm, the one who bottles everything up and is too afraid to say. THIS Malcolm says what's on his mind, says what he wants.......what he likes.....and we talk about it......remember?" 

Her arm slid around his shoulder, her eyes boring into his as though she had X-ray vision. 

Malcolm quailed under that glance. 

"I guess I'm just......I dunno.....enjoying being cared for......it's another new thing for me......I'm liking the feeling it gives me.....weird......in my head.....you know?" 

"Oh Malcolm!" She leaned into him and kissed him with great feeling. "There's no shame in that! To feel wanted and loved. It's nice. For me too......and I've cared for you before......."

"Not in the nursing sense you haven't. Not like this. Before it was different. A different kind of caring. I guess I'm still processing all this stuff......it's harder than I imagined......I was just remembering when that Hatley bitch once said........" 

"You didn't get enough cuddles as a child.....?" 

"Yeah! How'd you know that?" Malcolm raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

"Because I was there when she said it. And I saw how it wounded you.....that's how!" 

"Christ! Sometimes I think you've been inside my fucking head! It scares the shit out of me! Am I that transparent?" 

"No Malcolm. But I get it. It's a lovely feeling to know that someone cares for you, physically as well as mentally. It's not so strange. Why not just embrace it? Enjoy the sensation?" 

Leaning his head into her, he let her cuddle him, as he snuggled against her body with a sigh. 

"Yeah." He whispered. " I will. Good idea!" 

oOo

Malcolm was ready at the end of that fortnight to burn those fucking crutches on a ceremonial pyre. 

Thank god he was more or less mobile again. 

The supports had been jettisoned for something far more stylish. 

Sam was dressing for an evening out. 

Dinner and the theatre. 

Malcolm fixed his cufflinks and brushed the lapels of his suit. 

Sam sidled up behind him......her arms around his middle. 

"You smell divine!" She whispered. 

"Ready for this?" He answered, nuzzling her neck. 

"Absolutely! Dinner and a good stage play with my man! And looking so smart too!" 

"Do I?" He regarded himself in the mirror critically. 

"You do. I love you in your long coat!" 

Malcolm turned sideways first to the left, then to the right, staring at his reflection, as she walked away. 

"Yep! Still got it!" He smirked.

 

The taxi deposited them a few hundred yards from the theatre. 

Malcolm paid the cabbie, then stood, crooking an arm for Sam to take. 

With a smile, she threaded hers through his, tugging him into her side as they set off together. 

She in high heels......

.......Malcolm brandishing a rather stylish silver topped walking cane! 

 

Fin.


End file.
